


We Didn't Light It, But We Tried To Fight It

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Big Boss can go to hell and they'll send him there one way or another, Christmas, Hypnotism, M/M, MG2, mentions of Big Boss getting barbequed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 05:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10690260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: “Are you okay?” he finally says.The breathless laughter is as chilling as it’d be if he’d started crying. “I’m always okay, Miller.” A beat. “Are you?”“Sure. I won, didn’t I? Mission accomplished. Threat eliminated.”





	1. Chapter 1

Kaz throws the headset off his head so hard his aviators get knocked off his face, clattering on the keyboard.

He can’t listen to it, the fire and the screaming, too close to those nightmares he still has sometimes even now 25 years later, of being trapped in a burning metal coffin hurtling to the sea.

He watches the small blip on the radar disappear. His words still echo in his ears just like his inhuman scream as he caught fire. His laughter will haunt his sleep for many years, probably whatever little he has left of his life to live.

Acid flows up his throat. He wishes he could stop smelling burning human flesh. He wishes, once again, he could forget how it smells.

The radio blinks red. Snake is calling, but he can’t, he can’t answer right now, nothing would come out - or worse yet, _everything_ will come out. And the kid’s just killed his father for the second time. He does not need his bitter old man angst.

He’ll be fine.

It’s over.

It’s over, and he can’t believe it.

“Papa?”

His head snaps up towards the door cracked open, Catherine’s blonde curls peeking timidly through. He thought he’d locked it.

“Honey,” he says, getting up and his voice is shaking like his legs, “what did I tell you about coming in here when I’m working?”

“But...you were crying,” she says. As he picks her up and sits her on his hip, he realizes she’s right. She presses her small hand to his wet, warm cheek. “What’s wrong? Did the...mi-shun go bad?”

Kaz kisses the top of her head, and the scent of her baby shampoo calms the shaking in his flesh hand. “No. It went great. It was just really hard, and I’m very tired now.”

“Okay,” she says. “I will be good then.”

“Oh chickpea, you’re always good. Let me just finish here and I’ll be all yours for the rest of the day.” He should bring her out and set her back with her toys sprawled all over the carpet but he can’t quite let go of that small body, her weight grounding.

“No mi-shun on Christmas?”

“Nope. We’ll just eat and play all day.”

“Can mommy come too?”

“She won’t be back until the new year, I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Right.” Disappointed, but understanding. She’s so smart. “Can you make pizza tomorrow?”

Kaz laughs, and the sound almost startles him. “Pizza for Christmas?”

“Yes!”

He sets her down onto the couch. The couch and coffee table area have been taken over by several flocks of plastic animals, including some dinosaurs, clearly engaged in a herbivore vs carnivore feud. “All right. I’ll make Christmas pizza.”

“You’re the best, papa!”

He isn’t, but god if hearing her say it doesn’t make all the blood on his hands feel lighter for once.

He’s not even back into the studio yet when the phone rings. He isn’t quick enough to turn around and pick it up before Catherine does.

“Hello? Miller family,” she recites dutifully. “Oh...yes. Papa, it’s for you.”

“Hello?”

“It’s done,” says the voice on the other side.

He clutches the receiver. “I know.”

There’s a moment of pause, the long distance line buzzing   
softly.

“Are you okay?” he finally says.

The breathless laughter is as chilling as it’d be if he’d started crying. “I’m always okay, Miller.” A beat. “Are you?”

“Sure. I won, didn’t I? Mission accomplished. Threat eliminated.”

“How does that feel?”

Kaz sighs. “Something else.” He glances over at Catherine, who’s back to her plastic animals, and seems to be discussing a treaty between a rubber T.rex and a giraffe. “Oc..hey. Come over.”

“Where?”

“Here in LA.”

He can hear the smile in his voice. “I thought your place was off limits for me.”

“Does it matter anymore?”

A deep sigh. He sounds so tired. How long has it been since he slept? How many drugs is he on? “It may be over for you, but I have...”

“I’m sure it can wait for Christmas.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. “Oh right. It is Christmas.”

“Just come over. This...” he glances at Catherine. She isn’t listening. He lowers his voice anyway. “It’s the worst time of the year to spend alone with ghosts.”

Ocelot is quiet, and Kaz savors it. He can count on the flesh fingers he has left the times he’s managed to shut Ocelot up since the seventies.

“We’re having pizza,” he adds, stupidly.

Ocelot makes a small sound that would probably be laughter if they weren’t literally standing on the still smoldering corpse of the man that brought them together. “Pizza for Christmas. How can I resist. All right, you win.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m in a certain foxhole to tie off a few threads. I’m sure taking a plane to LA on Christmas Eve won’t be a nightmare at all.” A small smile in his voice. “The thought of pizza shall keep me going.”

“Just get your ass over here. Don’t get followed.”

“Really, Miller? I may be grief-stricken by the _suddenness_ of this new development, but I would _never_ be so sloppy.”

“Get going before I rescind the invitation,” he grunts, and slams the receiver back.

Catherine briefly looks up, then goes back to her toys. Kaz pinches the bridge of his noise.

“Honey, we’re gonna have a guest for Christmas.”

“Okay,” she says seriously, and the peace treaty clearly goes south as the T.rex viciously bites the giraffe.

“He’s probably going to stay over a few days.”

“He’s your friend?”

Kaz hesitates. “Yeah. An old friend from the army.”

Catherine nods. “Okay. But I’m still eating a whole pizza tomorrow!”

Kaz sighs in relief. Kids are much easier than he always worries they are.

The rest of the evening is peaceful enough to feel fake, disingenuous, like he doesn’t _deserve_ it. He wraps up the mission with Roy - David is fine, for as much as he can be, and it’s best to leave him to handle his demons for tonight - and then sits on the floor with Catherine and plays, as if he hasn’t just used a good young man to accomplish a vengeance fifteen years in the making. She makes up a story about herbivores creating a safe haven and the carnivores trying to infiltrate it or they’ll starve, and Kaz play along even as he feels like vomiting.

It’s not until well after they’ve had dinner and are tucked on the couch watching The Nightmare Before Christmas that the doorbell rings. Kaz nearly screams, jumping out of his own skin before rushing to the door.

“Who’s there,” he says.

“Just an old friend,” says Ocelot on the other side.

Kaz slams the door open and throws his hesitation at the wind and his arms around Ocelot’s shoulders. Gloved fingers tighten into fists in the back of his shirt.

They stand halfway into the hallway just hugging like idiots for a long time, until Catherine calls him in for his favorite part.

“Right. Her majesty calls,” he chuckles, pulling Ocelot inside.

Catherine is looking at them from the couch, large green eyes curious but not so curious she’ll pause the movie for it. “Hello,” she says politely.

Ocelot puts on all his charm, struts up to the couch, and takes her small hand to kiss it. “Pleased to meet you. Catherine, right?”

Catherine titters. “Yep. What’s your name?”

“You can call me Ocelot.”

She blinks. “Like the cat?”

“Like the cat.”

She scrunches her nose. “That’s silly!”

Ocelot’s moustache twitches. “I agree. It’s pretty silly, isn’t it?”

She points at the TV. “Do you want to watch the movie with us?”

“Cat, we have...”

“I’d love to,” Ocelot cuts him off. “I’ve never seen this movie.”

“I’ve seen it many times! We can start again if you want.”

Ocelot sits gingerly on the couch. “That’d be very kind of you, thank you.” He pats the couch at his side, looking at Kaz.

Kaz sighs, and sits at his left as Catherine proudly rewinds the VHS and starts the movie again. She explains excitedly a lot of things about it, and Ocelot makes all the appropriate noises.

He always was surprisingly good with kids.

Soon Ocelot has kicked off his boots - Catherine looked at the spurs but did not say anything - and is sinking into the couch, his head resting on Kaz’s shoulder. Kaz tangles his fingers with his. If their grip makes their joints creak when Jack kills Oogie Boogie, they don’t mention it.

Catherine yawns wide when the credits roll. Kaz finally lets go of Ocelot’s hand to pick her up. “All right, young lady. You’ve already been up enough. Time for bed, or Santa won’t be able to come.”

She yawns against his metal shoulder. “Santa’s not real, papa....”

“Says you. I’ve seen weirder things out there.”

Ocelot laughs. “Can confirm. We knew a man who could fly a helicopter much better than Santa could ride a sled.”

“See? It’s better not to take your chances, and go to bed.”

“Okaaaay.”

He puts her down, patting her butt. “Go wash your teeth. You want a story?”

Catherine puffs her chest. “I can read myself, papa. You and Ocelot catch up.”

“You just got told by a six years old,” snickers Ocelot as she heads for the bathroom.

“You have no idea how much she does that.”

“I’m glad she got the brains from her mother’s side.”

Kaz shuts him up with his mouth. Ocelot melts with a sigh, clinging to his shoulders. His breath tastes terrible, like airline whiskey and antacids. His usual grace has worn down to exhausted, heavy pawing at his back until he rests his hands in the small of it.

“Papa! Gross!”

They snap apart to see Catherine standing across the room in her pajamas, tongue stuck out and a spotted cat plush dangling from her hand.

“Sorry,” says Ocelot, crouching down at her level. “Your papa is just very cute. I’ll control myself.”

“It’s ok. I like kissing papa too,” she admits. “Here.”

She offers him the plush.

“I think it’s a jaguar, but I don’t have an ocelot.”

Ocelot takes the floppy stuffed animal in his hands with utmost gentleness, like he’s holding a diamond. “It does look close enough.”

“If you sleep here you need a stuffed animal,” she says, completely sure of herself.

“Oh. Does your papa have one too?”

“I do. It’s a wolf,” admits Kaz.

“They’ll keep each other company, then.”

Kaz nearly chokes. He can’t believe the old fuck just told he’s gonna sleep in his bed to his _six years old_.

“Yeah! They’ll make friends,” she says, completely unfazed.

“Thank you. I will sleep much better now.”

“Good night.” She reaches up for Kaz, kissing him sloppily on the mouth when he picks her up. “Goodnight, papa.”

Then she marches to her room and closes the door.

Ocelot is still crouching, the Jaguar in his hands. “Your kid is smarter than half the recruits I’ve trained in twenty years.”

“Smarter than most of them, honestly. As you said, she got the brains from her mom.”

Ocelot looks up at him with a half smile. “The good looks from her father, though.”

“Was that a _compliment_?”

He slowly rises to his feet, tucking the plush under his arm. “Maybe. I am quite tired.”

Kaz takes his other hand. “Let’s go to bed, then.”

Ocelot sets the plush down gingerly next to the stuffed wolf at the foot of Kaz’s bed, and sits down on the edge.

Kaz brushes his fingertips along his jaw. “Can I?”

“Please,” he breathes.

“When a man’s got money in his pocket, he begins to appreciate war,” says Kaz quietly. A wrong line from one of Ocelot’s dumb spaghetti westerns. A trigger for Kaz, and Kaz only.

Ocelot inhales sharply, eyes rolling back into his head. Kaz places a hand on the back of his neck, leading him to lie down. He takes off his shirt and lies down next to him.

Ocelot takes a few minutes to piece back together the remains of his mind, but Kaz isn’t in any hurry. He undoes his scarf, unbuttons his shirt, pets his hair, takes off his gloves when it looks he won’t bite him for touching his scarred bare hands.

“Fuck,” he says finally, and starts crying.

“We really did it, didn’t we?” says Kaz quietly, pressing his forehead to Ocelot’s warm one.

Ocelot runs his fingers into Kaz’s hair, pulling off the hair tie. “Yeah. He’s dead.” He sighs, tears still trailing down into his temples. “That should bring the rest of the Patriots out of their holes and all I have to do is pick them off. Hell, we might just start the new millennium with the Patriots gone.”

“That’d be fantastic. How much do you have?”

“Not much. I should really make use of the time they will account for me grieving for the love of my life. Besides, the less I stay here the less likely they are to get a clue.”

“If you need me to..”

“Kaz, _no_. I shouldn’t even be here in the first place. If somebody figures it out...”

“I can take them.”

“Sure. Can you also take them raping and torturing your daughter in front of you? Because that’s what they’re going to do, and they’re going to enjoy every _second_ of it.”

Kaz swallows acid and buries his face into Ocelot’s shoulder.

“You got your revenge. You’re free now. I started this, and I’m going to finish it.”

Kaz laughs bitterly against Ocelot’s skin. “None of us will ever be free until somebody puts a bullet in our heads.”

“When the time comes, I’ll take care of it.”

“You are the _worst_ at pillow talk, you know that?”

“Never seemed to stop you before.”

It doesn’t stop him now either. He kisses his lips and pushes his clothes off, touches him gently while Ocelot still lags behind fully awakening into his body, harder when he responds. He has to press his hand to his mouth to stop him from making too much noise, and Ocelot finally smiles against his palm, his legs squeezing his waist and asking for more.

It’s more telling themselves that despite all their sins they’re still alive than anything else. In a way, it’s been this way since the seventies, hasn’t it?

Once they’re done and have cleaned up, Ocelot watches him unstrap his arm through fluttering lashes, presses his face under the empty socket - his favorite spot since the eighties - and finally falls asleep.

Kaz waits until he’s snoring quietly to slip out from under him. There’s nothing he’d like more than sleep, too, but right now he knows he’s gonna hear that scream as soon as he dozes off.

Besides, Santa has to stop at their house anyway.

He’s laying the last presents under the tree when the phone rings, and he knows, right away, that their plan hasn’t worked out.

“Hello?” he says quietly, his voice trapped in his chest.

“Is he with you?” says a woman’s voice. Not young by a long shot, and husky with exhaustion.

“Who is it?”

“She who came from his rib, some say.”

Eva.

Fuck.

“Just a minute.”

But he doesn’t have to wake Ocelot. He’s already sitting up, stuffing his pants into his boots with trembling hands, his gloves already on.

“Pretty sure it’s Eva,” says Kaz.

“Yeah. I know.”

He strides into the living room and picks up the phone from the couch. “Yes?”

He is silent and unreadable as he listens.

“Understood,” he finally says, and hangs up.

He sits on the couch slowly. His hands are shaking, and his eyes are hollow and unfocused.

“Let me guess. Bastard’s not dead.”

Ocelot looks up, like he forgot he was even there. “Worse.”

Fuck. “Patriots got him.”

The nod is small, but enough to crush Kaz.

“I have to go,” he says, his voice monotone, not moving. “I need to rearrange things. I...yeah, I have to get George. Ok.” His pale eyebrows knit together. “I think I can fix this. I...fuck.”

“Ocelot,” breathes Kaz, fingers running in his hair.

“I’m so fucking _tired_ ,” he says softly.

“Stay at least until tomorrow. You need to sleep.”

Ocelot gets up instead. “The more I stay here the more they can trace me up to you. To Catherine. I’ve already put you both in way more danger than I should have. I was sloppy. I have to go, now.”

Kaz pulls him bodily against him, pressing him into his shoulder. Even with one arm, it’s impressively easy. “I’ll lie low. You know what to do if you need us to disappear.”

Ocelot grips his hip so hard he leaves marks into the skin. “Don’t be an idiot, alright?”

“I’ll try my best.”

Kaz pushes his chin up and kisses him.

“When a man’s got money in his pocket, he begins to appreciate peace,” he whispers on his lips.

Ocelot goes under. When his eyes open he’s standing straighter, looks like he’s got enough energy to keep going. It’s fake, but it’ll do.

“Thank you for,” he gestures at the room, the tree, the abandoned toys on the coffee table. His fake southern accent is back. “This. Would’ve loved to try the pizza.”

“Next time.”

“Next time.” He points two fingers against Kaz’s temple and mouths a bang. His other hand squeezes Kaz’s flesh one, briefly, and then he’s pulling on his duster and leaving.

Kaz waits until the sound of spurs has faded to go check on Catherine. She hasn’t woken up, thankfully. He sits by her bed, looking at her clutching her stuffed bear and breathing peacefully.

Then he goes back to the study, and starts writing a suitably douchey email to Nadine. Can’t have anybody figure out why he suddenly can’t raise the daughter he fought tooth and nail for anymore. Thankfully he has plenty of experience in being a terrible man.

He will do anything to protect Catherine.

Even lose her.

As he hits send, he notices a message from David, with no subject.

All it says is

_going back north._

_still up for fondue._

And Kaz smiles.

Why not? It’d be just one more bad choice in a lifetime full of them.

He replies,

_I’ll let you know_

and finally heads back to bed.

The jaguar plush, still sitting with its head on the wolf’s shoulder, has a red scarf draped around its neck. Kaz falls asleep holding it and breathing in the scent of Ocelot’s neck.

He does not dream of drowning, nor melting flesh. He does not dream laughing Russians with bone saws and does not see a kind face caved in around a broken spike of shrapnel.

He dreams of Mother Base, of the sun and the whipping wind of rotor blades. Of the Final Countdown blasting from the platform as Venom waves at them and Ocelot’s hand in the small of his back, warm and steadying. Of Quiet, sticking her tongue out at him as she jumps onto the helicopter.

“Let’s go,” says Ocelot, and he looks younger and older at the same time. “Our mission awaits.”

When he wakes, he knows that one way or another, they will win, even if they have to lose everything over and over again.

And that’s not much, but it’s enough.

 

 


	2. Art!

The incredibly talented Xarilin ([@xarilin_](https://twitter.com/xarilin_)) drew the doorway hug.....so good 

 


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